


petting (literally)

by deadlybride



Series: zmediaoutlet [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (seriously--pure fluff), Fluff, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hair Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Sam doesn't mind his hair being played with; Dean loves it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Anonymous asked: (i had a rough day so i just wanted to send something fun to someone) but like i think both of the winchesters have a weird head sensitivity... i bet dean likes getting his head scratched--massaged, like he just zones out and is soft and relaxed and i bet sammy loves it when people play with his hair, like just run their fingers thru it, so much so he doesn't mind when charlie or a little girl start to braid it even if dean makes fun bc it just feels so nice?_

****There are about a thousand bright pink toys scattered all over the living room when they come into Ms. Winslow’s house and she grimaces, says, “Sorry, my girls—” and Dean may not always be the sharpest tool but he sees the writing on the wall, right then.

“Oh, it’s no problem, ma’am,” he says, and then there are little pounding feet on the stairs and he smiles, doesn’t dare look around at Sam in case he starts laughing. “My partner here’s got a whole pile of kids, he can entertain them while you answer our questions.”

Sam stiffens up all along his side but Ms. Winslow brightens, just a little. “Are you sure, Agent Rose? They’re a bit of a handful—”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, and has to bite the inside of his cheek for a second. When he glances up and back Sam’s wearing something that’s more of a grimace than a smile, but then two identical blonde girls burst into room, half-screaming _Mommy!_ and they’re maybe five years old and their dad’s been murdered, horribly, and Sam’s expression softens a little.

“I’ve got it, ma’am,” Sam says, and her expression goes relieved. When she turns away, though, he gives Dean a look like homicide, and when Dean mutters, “Don’t forget, Barbie broke up with Ken,” Sam actually gives him a sharp jab in the kidneys, hidden between their two bodies, but then Dean escapes grinning into the kitchen and leaves Sam to babysitting duty.

Ms. Winslow’s a good witness. She doesn’t cry too much, and she’s surprisingly focused. Dean gets all the information he needs for the case in less than half an hour and he’s thinking, maybe a cursed object, maybe a witch, and he doesn't even realize how it’s been near-silent in the living room until he and Ms. Winslow come back out and find Sam sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, hands folded neatly in his lap, while the twins braid his hair.

“Uh,” Dean says, and Sam gives him a tranquil look. It’s a pretty messy job, a half-dozen little braids sprouting off the top of his head, and the girls are giggling behind him as they work on the back, full of good humor.

“Oh, god,” Ms. Winslow groans. “I’m so sorry, Agent—girls, what are you—”

“It’s no problem,” Sam says, and he really—doesn’t sound irritated. “Jessie, Cassie—am I all done?”

There’s a giggling chorus of _yes!_ and he unfolds off the floor, towers over them, and he looks—he looks fucking _ridiculous_ but he just offers them each a high-five, thanks them for letting him play with them, and they crash into their mom’s legs and giggle some more, and Dean recognizes a little-girl crush when he sees one.

They’re in the car before Dean starts to laugh. “Dude, don’t start,” Sam says.

Dean reaches out and tugs on one of the little braids, and Sam colors, starts to undo them. “Hey, don’t go ruining your hairdressers’ work on my account,” Dean says, grinning. “I know how you love getting attention paid to those luscious locks.”

The backhanded smack Sam lands to his stomach stings, but it’s worth it.

(But then, later, when they’re back home in the bunker and he’s laying with his head in Sam’s lap, watching Discovery Channel reruns in Sam’s room, Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s hair, runs a gentle-firm petting stroke up the back of it, where the soft buzz of it goes velvety over the back of his scalp—slow stratching pulls at the top where it gets long, repetitive hypnotic strokes like Dean’s a cat, and if he were he’d be purring. _You think,_ he says, leaning up into it, _you think I could pull off a few little braids? Maybe a bow or a barrette or something?_ There’s a pause in the petting and he muffles a grin against Sam’s thigh. _Have I ever mentioned that I hate you?_ Sam says, idly, but he starts stroking again, long clever fingers pressing just right into the back of Dean’s skull, perfect pressure on his scalp, and Dean groans, melts as much as he can into Sam’s shitty mattress. _Don’t worry, Sammy,_ he says, half-asleep. _I’ll always pull your pigtails for you, ‘s my job._  Sam rubs an affectionate thumb over the velvet-burr of hair behind his ear and murmurs, _you’d better, jerk._ )

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](http://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/154164045419/i-had-a-rough-day-so-i-just-wanted-to-send)


End file.
